


You're My Angel Not My Cigarette

by MistyBeethoven



Series: The Exorcist and the Dead Girl [2]
Category: Constantine (2005)
Genre: Addiction, Cigarettes, Dead People, Exorcists, F/M, Fluff, Hand & Finger Kink, Innuendo, Love, Withdrawal, fingers - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-09
Updated: 2019-10-09
Packaged: 2020-11-24 02:07:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20899883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MistyBeethoven/pseuds/MistyBeethoven
Summary: Isabel Dodson has a rather unique way of helping John Constantine out with his cigarette withdrawal.





	You're My Angel Not My Cigarette

John Constantine sat on the couch, his legs on the piece of furniture as well, as his girlfriend, the very dead Isabel Dodson, stared at him from behind it. The demon slayer's head was behind a book and his feet, inside the shoes dirtying up the upholstery, were kicking back and forth. Isabel stared at them and then back at her love as her head rested in the palms of each hand; her elbows resting on the couch's back.

"You want one, don't you?" she suddenly asked, breaking the somehow tense silence.

"I want what?" John asked not tearing his eyes away from the book in his hands.

"You want a cigarette."

Silence as the man's shoulders became as tense as the atmosphere. 

"What makes you say that?" he asked with a voice as tight and strained as a rubber band extended to its allowance.

"Well you've been reading the same page for over thirty minutes and your feet look like they are possessed," the dead woman replied, casting a wary glance at the energetic shoes.

"Maybe they _are_ possessed," Constantine tried to bluff his way out of it.

"Want to try a spur of the moment exorcism?"

"No," John Constantine hissed and threw his book on to the fraying rug on the floor.

The man sat up and ran a hand through his black hair in agitation. It was true: He had woken up that morning with one of his usual nicotine cravings which tended to hit him every now and again. The old adage about once an addict always an addict was horribly correct. Yet he knew for a fact that smoking would lead to his death so he had to avoid the damn things.

He tried his best to hide his cravings from his girlfriend but Isabel Dodsen knew him all too well.

The dead girl came over to his side of the sofa and sat down next to him. She was wearing the hospital gown she had died in. But, all in all, for having been dead for close to a year she looked beautiful. As a reward for being a good little boy, and supposedly because He loved him, Isabel had been given to John as some kind of gift from God. The exorcist wished that the Almighty had loved him enough to have sent her back with all her former working parts but they had no use for them up there (or so he heard) so he had to be content with her as she was.

In truth, Constantine was very content with his girl, despite the fine print. He just wasn't too pleased with her knack for reading him.

Which she proceeded in doing again, much to his chagrin.

"Anybody could tell you were having an itch, John," she commented. "They wouldn't need to be a mind reader."

"_Damn it,_" he cursed her inside his head.

"I'm telling you I can't read your mind!" she assured him. "And watch your language."

Somehow John Constantine was not convinced.

"What you need to do is to get your mind off of it," Isabel suggested.

"And how do I do that?" the irritable man irritably asked.

"Close your eyes," the dead girl ordered.

Seeing no reason why not, Constantine did as he was told. He was surprised several seconds later to feel something rammed into his mouth. He was somewhat disturbed but not surprised to open his eyes and see that Isabel Dodson had stuck her own finger into his mouth.

"What are you doing?" he managed to ask past the didget in his mouth.

"I'm giving you a substitute to wean you off."

"I think you have this mixed up," John Constantine complained. "I'm the one who keeps asking if I can stick something in _your_ mouth."

Isabel's eyes widened and then she glared at him. "John Constantine! How do you expect to get into Heaven if you keep talking to me that way?"

During those lusty moments, Constantine was aware that Heaven wasn't the place he was trying to get in to but he kept his mouth shut.

Other than the finger still stuck in it.

"And how long do you intend to keep it in here?" he demanded testily.

"As long as your craving lasts," she informed. "Then whenever it comes back, I'll be there to help you out again."

John Constantine frowned, another difficult thing to do with a finger in one's mouth.

During the next few days the dead woman was true to her word; she would constantly follow her beloved around and whenever she sensed he was craving a cigarette she would place her index finger in his pie hole. The image of which was rather uncool and proceeded in making more than a few demons end up laughing hysterically.

"This is NOT working," Constantine snapped one night. They were in the bedroom of his apartment. Dodson was reclining on the bed while the exorcist was ripping off his tie in annoyance as he stared at her.

"I look like an idiot and I can barely get the incantations out! Besides I need nicotine and not your finger!"

Isabel looked at him severely wounded, tears filling her bright, beautiful eyes. "I thought you were addicted to me too! That includes my finger!"

John felt guilty. He tried to appease her but to no avail. Try as he might he could not get her to stick her lovely finger back inside of his mouth.

The worst part of it was that he found himself craving it now and not the cigarettes.

"Please angel," John Constantine begged one night as they lay chastely in bed together. "Stick your finger in my mouth."

"So you _are_ addicted to it?" she asked shyly.

"Yes," he said, grabbing a hold of her as she placed her arms around his neck.

"Good!" she exclaimed. "My plan worked!"

"Your plan was to get me addicted to your _finger_?" the exorcist inquired incredulously.

The dead woman nodded. "Yes. Now I only have to get you weaned off of it! That should be much easier!"

"And how do we do that?" John asked.

The woman smiled mischievously. "I've got my plans," she said.

As Isabel Dodson brought her lips to his, John Constantine saw one fatal flaw in her scheme.

If she was trying to set him free from all of his addictions it was never going to work:

God knew, there was no chance in hell he'd _ever_ stop wanting his angel.


End file.
